<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>C'est Suffit (A Coast-to-Coast fic) by SiriuslyQueer</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25017895">C'est Suffit (A Coast-to-Coast fic)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiriuslyQueer/pseuds/SiriuslyQueer'>SiriuslyQueer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Coast-to-Coast inspired fics (character credit Lumosinlove) [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Coast-to-Coast, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Goalies, Hockey, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, O'Knutzy, Queer Character, Queer Themes, Sweater weather, Unrequited Crush, friends - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:36:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,729</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25017895</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiriuslyQueer/pseuds/SiriuslyQueer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the week following the Lion's loss to the Rangers, Leo's still not himself on the ice. He's hearing it from Coach, from his goalie coach, from everyone, but it's a comment from Logan during practice that finally makes him snap. Which means Logan and Finn probably both hate him now. Luckily Kasey is there to offer him some much-needed perspective, letting him know that maybe things aren't as bad as they seem.</p><p>(This is listed under Harry Potter fandom because it is based on characters by Lumosinlove in their wolfstar hockey au fics Sweater Weather and Coast to Coast. But these characters are OCs of Lumosinlove's that are not HP characters.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Leo Knut/Logan Tremblay/Finn O'Hara</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Coast-to-Coast inspired fics (character credit Lumosinlove) [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2089896</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>112</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>C'est Suffit (A Coast-to-Coast fic)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/20750912">Sweater Weather</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosinlove/pseuds/lumosinlove">lumosinlove</a>.
        </li>
        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24150220">Coast To Coast</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosinlove/pseuds/lumosinlove">lumosinlove</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As always, thank you to Lumosinlove for writing these wonderful characters and allowing me to borrow them for my fics!</p><p>Goalies train in practice with a goalie coach, who runs them through goalie-specific skills and training that include drills to develop their reflexes, eyesight, and mental strength. Goalie coach Matteau "Matty" Swanson is an OC of mine that I wrote for this fic, so please don't use him without asking/crediting me. Thanks and enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Blue! Yellow! Green!”</p><p>Bright colored pucks clack against the ice as Leo bats them down, shouting out each color to goalie coach Matty Swanson, who’s standing off to the side with his arms crossed, watching.</p><p>Pots slaps a high left at him, Cap right behind with a low slider to the right.</p><p>“Red! Orange—fuck!” Leo shouts as his miscalls the second color, slamming the ice with his stick.</p><p>He slaps the offending pink puck back out to the rainbow pile beside Smitty, Cap, and Pots as they’re lining up to go again before Matty blows two short beeps on his whistle and waves them off.</p><p>“Switch out,” he calls, circling a hand above his head as he strides out toward the goal. “Send the second line over.”</p><p>Cap nods, glancing back at Leo before they skate off toward the other side of the ice where Coach is running the rest of the forwards through rapid-fire passing drills.</p><p>Once they’re out of earshot Matty turns to Leo and crosses his thick brown arms over his chest.</p><p>“What am I about to tell you?”</p><p>Leo huffs as he lifts his mask off, combing his sweaty hair back from his forehead with his fingers.</p><p>“Stiff?”  </p><p>Matty nods, his dreadlocks bouncing against his neck where he’s got them tied back.</p><p>“Like your promo cardboard cutout.”</p><p>Leo slaps his blocker and glove on top of the goal and accepts the green squeeze bottle Matty holds out to him, leaning his elbows on the crossbar so he doesn’t have look him in the eye. It’s all he’s heard all week since the Rangers game. <em>Stiff. Rigid. Loosen up.</em>  </p><p>“You’re making your blocks fine,” Matty says, propping an elbow on the goal so he’s facing Leo. It’s irritating how good he is at inserting himself into Leo’s space like this—non-threatening but making sure Leo can’t ignore him. It doesn’t hurt that he’s one of the few staff who’s actually Leo’s size.</p><p>“But there’s no fluidity to it. The looser you are the more you’ll catch those little movements, guys’ last-second tells you’ll miss when you’re too zeroed in on the puck.”</p><p>Leo nods, squirting more Gatorade into his mouth to avoid answering. Matty’s advice makes sense (it almost always does), but how can he not be zeroed in? Getting flustered got him a 4-0 loss—shouldn’t he be focusing more, not less?</p><p>He hears the second line skate up behind him and hands the bottle back to Matty, pulling his mask back on and picking up his blocker.</p><p>“Same drill. Slow it down, let it flow,” he says to Leo. “And shake off those misses, yeah? They’re already done. Don’t let them throw you off the shot in front of you.”</p><p>He calls to Harzy, Tremz, and Dumo, “Let him have it, boys.” Matty claps his hands twice as he backs off toward the boards.</p><p>Leo digs his skates into the crease a couple times as they get lined up, each dragging a few pucks from the pile. Tremzy shoves Harz, laughing at something, while Dumo rolls his eyes. Leo’s stomach twists.</p><p>He shakes his head a little and inhales slow through his nose. <em>Slow it down. Let it flow.</em></p><p>He knows Matty’s right. He’s felt it after practices, that extra soreness in his muscles from clenching on the ice. What he doesn’t know is how to stop it. He’s always had something to prove just like any rookie, but now, after <em>that</em> loss? He swallows the panicky desperation in the back of his throat, like his body knows he has to show the team he’s worth what they’re investing in him.</p><p>Harz shoots first, a slap just to the right of his head that he bats down easily.</p><p>“Green!”</p><p>Dumo circles wider for a long hard shot.</p><p>“Orange!”</p><p>Tremz comes in close, smirking. He pulls back like he’s going for the slap, but Leo catches the fake and knows he’s going to try for a short poke into the goal. He snags the puck with his stick and bats it away before he can even shoot.</p><p>“Red!” He stares out through his cage at Logan, who’s definitely not smirking now. “Gonna have to do better than that, Fleur-de-lis.”</p><p>He’s still meeting Logan’s furrowed gaze when hears a deep, barking laugh off to his left. Kasey’s leaning on the boards next to Matty in sweats and a Lions sweatshirt. He’s still on the injured list with his thigh, doing PT with Loops instead of active practice.</p><p>“Give ‘em hell Knut,” he calls, bumping Matty’s fist as they both settle again to watch.</p><p>Leo bites back a grin and breathes, settling into his poised squat again. Finn’s already circling out for another shot.</p><p>“Yellow! Blue! Pink! Green!”</p><p>He shouts the last color but just misses the puck with his glove. Logan peels back in to let Dumo bump their helmets together as frantic heat rises into Leo’s cheeks. Thank god for his mask.</p><p>“How was that Arachide?” he shouts, knocking shoulders with Harzy, and Leo’s stomach clenches.</p><p>Logan hasn’t used that name since that night after the game. Leo’s felt the ghost of his hand on the back of his neck all week, soft and firm. When he lays down at night he can’t stop seeing that tender desperation in Logan’s eyes, like he would’ve thrown himself point-blank in front of a slapshot to get Leo smiling again.</p><p>Anger flares hot and sharp in his chest. He breathes in and out, in and out. Bury it down. Keep it fluid.</p><p>“Orange! Blue!”</p><p>It’s easier with Finn. There’s a tension there sometimes that Leo can’t deny, but it’s like they’ve both just decided to let the occasional shoulder brush on the couch or fixing a crooked collar as they go out to the press before a game be part of who they are to each other without bothering to question it or let it be awkward.</p><p>But Logan. God, <em>Logan</em>.</p><p>Logan curled beneath his arm on the bus, warm and shaking a little against him. Then pulled back and reserved for weeks, like nothing happened.</p><p>“Green! Red!”</p><p>Logan pressing their foreheads together, his voice low and sweet, scrunched on their hotel room floor. And god that fucking <em>nickname</em>. He should hate it, he knows he should, but it stirs butterflies in his chest every time he thinks about that night.</p><p>They’ve never talked about it, the bus or the hotel. It’s like he gets these glimpses, these teasing little maybes into who Logan could be to him before Logan shuts him out again.</p><p>Dumo slides a low, fast poke at him. Leo drops a knee, but he’s too slow and the puck thumps the net behind him.</p><p>Fuck. Concentrate. Be <em>here</em>.  </p><p>Tremzy’s right behind Dumo with a slap, hard and high.</p><p>“Green!” Leo thrusts his blocker out and misses by maybe an inch. The puck thwacks into the goal.</p><p>He hears the bleep of Matty’s whistle and a weight thumps heavy into his chest as heat flares up his neck. Logan passes the crease on his way back around the goal, smiling.</p><p>“Je viens pour toi Arachide” he says, low enough that only Leo can hear him. And the weight in Leo’s chest snaps loose.</p><p>He’s dropped his gloves to the ice before he even realizes what he’s doing. Skating out of the crease, he shoves Logan hard from behind with both hands.</p><p>“What the fuck man?” he yells, stumbling to round on Leo.</p><p>Leo flips his mask back off his head and skates to meet him. He squares his shoulders so that he towers over Logan, adrenaline slamming his muscles as he shoves him hard in the chest.</p><p>Because fuck this. Fuck Logan’s mixed signals and that stupid nickname that makes his knees go weak and especially fuck Logan throwing that moment back in his face now like it was nothing.</p><p>Logan throws his stick to the ice and drops his gloves, his eyes murderous. Leo grits his teeth against the right hook he’s seen lay guys flat, but before Logan can pull his arm back Dumo’s there between them.  </p><p>“Assez,” Pascal says as he shoves them apart with minimal success. “C’est suffit!”</p><p>Leo’s trying to launch his bulky pads past Dumo when he feels strong hands grip his jersey and yank him backward. He tries to shake them off, but the hands only grip tighter. When he looks over his shoulder Kasey’s staring at him with wide eyes, his mouth open a little in shock.</p><p>“Cool it guys,” Matty says somewhere behind him as Logan tries to lunge forward around Dumo. “Cool. It.” His voice is deadly low, and it snaps Leo back into himself.</p><p>What the fuck is he doing? He leans back into Kasey’s weight a little without realizing, his head swimming.</p><p>Logan shoves Dumo’s hold off him and skates to gather his helmet, gloves, and stick. He glances back at Leo, green eyes sparking with confusion and fury, but he doesn’t try to skate back over to him.</p><p>“Second line, back to drills,” he hears Matty say. He’s vaguely aware of his arms shaking under his pads.</p><p>Harzy skates forward, eyes on Leo, but Matty cuts him off.</p><p>“We need five. Back to drills.”  </p><p>Finn stares hard at Matty for a few seconds, jaw jutted, before joining Dumo and Logan on the way back across the ice.</p><p>Only when they’re a safe distance away does Kasey loosen his grip on Leo’s jersey.</p><p>Matty spins him around by his arm.</p><p>“What the fuck man?”</p><p>Leo opens his mouth, then closes it and swallows. He thinks he might throw up.</p><p>He tries again and manages “I—” before his throat closes. He looks over his shoulder at the rest of the team, most of whom are sneaking worried glances at him across the ice. All except Logan, who’s leaned against the boards with his back turned, talking to Finn. From the look on Finn’s face, whatever he’s saying can’t be good.  </p><p>Leo clears his throat against the tickling panic rising there, and Matty stares at him for a second, then nods.  </p><p>“Pads off,” he says, clapping a hand on Leo’s shoulder. “We’ll run some ball drills in the gym.”</p><p>Leo’s heart lodges in his throat. He needs all the time on the ice he can get. He has to be better. For himself. For the team. He looks to Kasey, who only shrugs.</p><p>“No. Matty, I—”</p><p> Matty shakes his head once. “After whatever the hell that was I just saw, you’re taking some time away. Pads off.”</p><p>Leo snatches his mask and gloves off the ice, hating how much he feels like a petulant teenager as he skates toward the player gate. He stalks his way off the ice toward the locker room without looking anyone in the eye.</p><p>***</p><p>Leo hunches with his hands on his knees, breathing hard as he wipes his already soaked towel across his face. He and Matty finished up his solo drills almost an hour ago, but most of the guys are showering or packing up and he doesn’t think he can sit through the chirping over his almost-fight or the questions he knows they’re dying to ask. Straightening up, he guzzles the last of his water bottle and tosses it onto his sweaty t-shirt on the floor of the burgundy and gold painted hallway. There’s no room for the light sensory trainers on the wall in the team gym, which he kind of likes. No one really comes back into this hallway but him, Kasey, or Matty, and right now alone is exactly what he wants to be.  </p><p>He rests a hand on his hip and resets the sensory trainer, then steps into position. The red LED lights up and down the four wall-mounted posts blink once, twice, and then he’s back in the zone.</p><p>His eyes flick from light to light as they flash, hands darting out to each one as fast as his straining muscles can move. Up. Down. Left. Up. Right. He lunges back and forth as the lights cascade in front of him, so attuned he barely notices the sound of a door clicking shut down the other end of the hall.  </p><p>Up. Left. Center. Down.</p><p>He’s panting again by the time all the lights blink in unison, signaling the end of the session. He doubles over with his hands on his knees, gulping down air. His legs quiver under his weight, and he sways for a second before palming the wall with one hand. Just in case. A few minutes rest and he’ll go again. At least once more before his shower.</p><p>The blood in his ears is so loud he doesn’t hear the footsteps coming up the hall until they’re almost directly behind him.</p><p>Whoever it is leans to check his time and accuracy scores on the sensory trainer’s touch screen.</p><p>“Not bad bro,” Blizzard says.</p><p>Leo stiffens, grateful he’s already flushed from his workout. After today on the ice he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look Kasey in the eye again without blushing.</p><p>“Thanks,” he pants. He pushes up off the wall and sways a little.</p><p>“Think it’s time to pack it in,” Kasey laughs, putting a hand out to steady him. Leo steps away from his reach.</p><p>“Nah, m’good.”</p><p>“Most of the guys are probably gone if that’s what you’re worried about.”</p><p>Leo shrugs. He’s still winded enough to get away with not responding.</p><p>Kasey shifts his weight to one side, favoring his good leg.</p><p>“You okay?” Leo asks.</p><p>“Yeah.” Kasey tugs loose the bun at the back of his neck, letting his brown hair fall around his shoulders. “Just sore from PT with Loops. He says I can probably get back out on the ice within a week though, at least for practices, if I keep it rested.”</p><p>“What about the next match?” Leo fights to keep his voice casual. They have the Capitals at home in three days, which is an intimidating enough prospect without their first match against the Snakes (on Snakes home ice no less) looming the following week.   </p><p>“Coach and Loops say maybe the Snakes match if I’m looking good in practice, but I think we’re riding on you for the Caps.” Kasey grins and claps his shoulder once, but Leo doesn’t look up at him.</p><p>After botching the Rangers game, how in the world is he supposed to face down fucking Ovechkin? The Lions are going to get destroyed because of him.</p><p>“You okay man?” Kasey asks, his thick brows furrowing.</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah totally.” He stares just above Kasey’s shoulder and tries to force the corners of his mouth into a grin. These are his problems. He doesn’t need to put his shit on Kasey when he’s trying to work through an injury.</p><p>But the concern in Kasey’s brown eyes deepens. He shifts his weight on good his leg again, leaning against the wall across from Leo.</p><p>“Look man, I know you’re probably sick of hearing this from Matty, but that last game—”</p><p>“I said I’m fine,” Leo snaps. He steps back at the bite in his voice, bringing a hand to rub the heat on the back of his neck. It’s like he’s watching someone else live his life, someone who picks fights with his friends and acts like a complete tool to the people he cares about.</p><p>“Sorry. I’m just tired or something, I don’t—”</p><p>“Come on, Knut.” Kasey’s voice lowers. "Talk to me, man.”</p><p>Leo swallows, looking him in the eye for the first time. Kasey’s whole rugged face is open now, his eyes wide and earnest. Leo takes a breath but god, how does he even start? The ache that’s eroded his chest all week rises into his throat.</p><p>“Have you ever seen tape of my first game with the Rangers?” Kasey asks, fiddling with the pocket of his hoodie.</p><p>Leo tries to remember, but he must have been like ten at the time. “No, sorry.”</p><p>Kasey laughs, warm and deep. “Fuck, I’m not. It was a bloodbath. The Canes got me on powerplays three times, not to mention the two goals I missed in the second.”</p><p>Leo blinks at him. He can’t imagine the Blizzard playing that badly—he’s scary good. Superhuman accurate.</p><p>His mouth must fall open or something, because Kasey laughs again.</p><p>“Look, I know the other guys—they don’t get it.”</p><p>Leo steps back again without realizing, and his shoulders thump the painted cinderblock, cool against his bare back.</p><p>“They’ve got the team,” Kasey says. “Well, we’ve all got the team, I guess, but when you’re out there in goal, it’s—”</p><p>“Different,” Leo mumbles. He leans harder into the wall, worried he might fall over as his leg muscles shake under his weight.</p><p>“It feels like it’s just you out there. Like it’s <em>your</em> game, so a big loss feels like <em>your</em> loss.”</p><p>Leo swallows hard. The weight he’s carried on his shoulders since the Rangers game suddenly feels unbearable, like it could crush him any second.</p><p>“It’s not all on you Knut.” Kasey pushes himself off the wall, limp-stepping toward him. “A loss is a loss and it fucking sucks, especially in your first game. But it wasn’t <em>your</em> loss.”</p><p>Kasey rests a big, rough hand on his shoulder again, his smile gentle. Leo can’t stop himself from leaning into it.</p><p>“You gotta let it go. Make your next game the one they remember you for.”</p><p>Leo nods, afraid that his voice might crack if he tries to speak. The sweat has cooled on his arms and torso, making him shiver.</p><p>“Thanks,” he finally manages, clearing his throat hard.</p><p>Kasey just nods back, clapping his shoulder again before letting go.</p><p>“It’s for the team as much as anything,” he laughs. “I don’t want to see what a guy your size could to do Tremzy. We need him out there Sunday.”</p><p>Leo feels a hot blush burn his cheeks and ducks his head.</p><p><em>Tremz</em>. Fuck, he and Harz are both going to hate him for who knows how long after this. He tells himself the sharp pang would be there over losing anyone on the team, but he’s not sure he believes it.</p><p>Leo snatches his t-shirt and empty water bottle off the floor to follow Kasey back through to the locker room.</p><p>“Hey man, you mind if I get a ride?” he asks. “I can always shower at home, but I rode in with Harz today, and…” He can’t make himself say <em>he probably hates me now</em>.      </p><p>Kasey raises an eyebrow at him. “Sure. But I’m pretty sure Harzy’s still here.”</p><p>Leo stops outside the locker room door. The forwards (hell, everyone) should be finished and gone by now.</p><p>Kasey rolls his eyes and laughs. “C’mon Knut,” he says, holding the door open for him. “Trust me, it’ll blow over. Now go shower. You fucking stink.”</p><p>Leo laughs, tossing his reeking shirt and workout towel into the laundry bin as Kasey grabs his bag from his stall. “Thanks, Kase.”</p><p>Kasey shrugs, but he doesn’t manage to squash his smile on his way to the door. “Anytime, rookie.”</p><p>Nerves buzz under Leo’s skin as he heads to the showers. Finn’s not in his stall. But if he’s already dressed, he wouldn’t be hanging there anyway. Maybe he’s in the lounge.</p><p>It doesn’t much matter, or that’s what Leo tells himself. He can call an Uber or something if Kasey was wrong.</p><p>Once he’s dressed in sweatpants and his thick Lions hoodie (his favorite after a shower), Leo chews his lip and shoulders his bag, walking slowly out to the players lounge, which he fully expects to find empty.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, he pushes the door open.</p><p>He stutters to a stop in the doorway. Because there’s Finn on one of the couches, laid back scrolling on his phone, his red hair wavy and fluffed out from drying without a hat on. He looks up when the door swings shut, his face breaking into a crooked grin.</p><p>“S’up Knut,” he says, sitting up and pocketing his phone. “I was beginning to wonder if you left without me.”</p><p>Leo palms the back of his neck, looking at the couch instead of his face.</p><p>“That’d be pretty hard, seeing as it’s your car.”</p><p>Finn laughs as he stands and hefts up his bag.</p><p>“Sorry you had to wait,” Leo says, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket as they make their way out to the player’s entrance. “I kind of thought you’d already be gone…with Tremz, so I—”</p><p>Finn turns to look at him, mouth turned down, and the words catch in Leo’s throat.</p><p>Finn scuffs a hand hard back through his hair and sighs.</p><p>“The thing about Lo—sometimes he’s—” Finn huffs out another breath and starts again. “He can be kind of a dick sometimes without realizing. I don’t know what he said on the ice…he wouldn’t tell me.”</p><p>Leo jerks his head up. He’s never known Finn and Logan to keep anything from each other, but then again, everyone’s got secrets. Leo knows that all too well.</p><p>“But, I dunno, it’s like when he starts getting close to people, he has to push back or something. And that doesn’t really excuse anything, but…I guess I just feel like you should know.”</p><p>Finn steps toward him, and Leo holds his breath. Finn’s eyes are almost hazel in the evening light through the tall windows, deep and fiery. Butterflies that have nothing to do with his fight with Logan flutter in his gut.  </p><p>“He might be an ass about it for a couple days—I think you threw him more than anything. He’s not used to many people stepping to him like that.” Finn laughs as he pushes open the exterior doors to the parking garage and Leo can’t help joining him, covering his chuckle with his hand.</p><p>“But I know he’s really glad you’re here.” Finn ducks to rummage for his keys in his bag. “And, I mean…you know. I am too.”</p><p>Leo stops beside Finn’s Jeep, biting his lip against a smile. He’s not sure how he got so lucky to be here. On this team, with these guys.</p><p>Finn rolls his eyes and laughs again, giving Leo a soft punch on the shoulder.</p><p>“C’mon Knut, let’s go home.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>French translations:<br/>Je viens pour toi Arachide: I’m coming for you Peanut<br/>Assez: Enough<br/>C’est suffit!: That’s enough!</p><p>I also learned something new today in conversation with an anon on Tumblr...I was always taught the French Canadian usage of peanut (arachide) but in France the common usage is cacahuete (this word has accents I don't have on my keyboard so Google it). So yeah...if your fic's French speakers are from France use cacahuete. :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>